Starting the Fire
by SilentProtagonist000
Summary: SLOW UPDATES. Volkner and Flint have been together for many years, and their friendship makes them inseparable. But when Flint begins to find his interests elsewhere, Volkner must decide whether it's time to let him go or fight for the love of the person he values above anyone. Ignitionshipping and Flint/Roark MAINLY. Rated for language and sexuality in later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Here we go, another long story! It probably won't match Soullessness, but I will attempt to do well at this. Even if you dislike yaoi, I hope that you will read this story for the plot instead of its ostensible shippings. I myself am not biased against slash (I write it mainly because it's popular), but I am writing this for the fact that... Flint and Volkner just seem too canon to ignore, amirite? ****(This prologue got rejected by a Pokemon Crack Pairings on Deviantart because Ignitionshipping is "too likely." Lmao.)**

**There will be other shippers in this story in later chapters other than Ignition, although that is the main focus here.  
**

**Once I receive a review, I shall write and post the next chapter! Your support on my first lengthy story has galvanized me to write another, and I hope you enjoy this as well!  
**

**-Silent-Protagonist  
**

()()()

_Volkner_

I'm losing.

I am losing so badly.

If I excused that I wasn't always the loser in situations like these, I'd be telling a lie, because I almost always am. And no, it is not because of my piss-poor attitude toward everyone and everything that tries to crawl into my ass, even though people say that's exactly my problem. Very few have ever tried to even speak to me any more beyond "pass the salt" or "I'm gonna punch a hole in that pretty-boy face of yours." My family could have cared less about my existence, and as a kid, I struggled to find an escape from the bullying that was subject to at school due to my complete inability to stand up for myself. Of course, nowadays, anyone who dares challenge me in a manner that is not a battle is asking for it, but back then, I was just a scrawny blond squirt that didn't know his own fist from a ham sandwich. I was weak and frail, which was why I turned to Pokemon to protect me. I could easily make a friend in one of them. They weren't humans. They loved you unconditionally and stood by you even when the going got rough and it was inconvenient for them. In my eyes, no humans were capable of that kind of adoration. We were too complex and critical to feel genuine affection.

That was my opinion, anyway, until I met Flint when I was ten.

Then again, I don't consider Flint to be complex in any way, mentally or emotionally. He's a Great Dane that says the word "shit" in replacement for barking. He was a total simpleton when I met him thirteen years ago, picking his nose and trimming off chunks of his colossal red afro to put on the girls' lunch trays—and, as much as he denies it, he's still an idiot. For years, I tried to get him to shear that fur off his head, but he refuses to in his typical "Don't-touch-the-fro-bro" fashion. He still has no idea how to use a tissue in place of his finger sometimes, and he misses the point of everything that I say because that haircut obstructs comprehensive brain activity. Yes, he's smart, or else he wouldn't have made it as an Elite Four member and one of the most powerful Fire-type specialists in Sinnoh, but intelligence does not always translate to sensitivity.

But when I befriended Flint, he was so loyal that I was surprised to find that for once in my life, I'd actually met someone who wanted to hang out with me until the sun went down. This was despite the fact that I probably spoke all of ten words to him in the first six years we were friends, since he has the persistence of a champion. When we made it to high school, he was a year ahead of me, but he'd continue cut class and show up during my lunch period to pick me up and throw me at a window "lovingly." After school, we'd go to the basketball court and he would pit his Magmar against my Electabuzz, once effectively starting a fire in the surrounding lawn and getting us both ticketed for destruction of property. I tried to reject his playfulness, but at some point during my junior year, I realized that I was stuck with him. When I finally started to talk to him, it was like I'd given him a treat, because he starting to bounce around and wag his imaginary tail and chatter to me with glee when I so much as opened my mouth. He'd succeeded in getting the emo Electric trainer to talk, and there was nothing that made him happier.

There was a point, however, when we were went at the Pokemon Trainers' Academy after high school that I understood that he made me happy, too.

Of course, Flint never knew, in the face of all the obvious hints I dropped while we were busy getting prepping for our Gym Leaders' exams. I'd brush by him while we were training or poke his open-toed sandals with my own feet if we were studying in the library, and he reciprocated all of it with a clueless grin. I never invited him over to my dorm, fearing that I might lose my cool—and even Flint was not dense enough to ignore me coming onto him. All of my classmates would sit and watch us interact during sessions and remark privately to me later that we were the gayest couple on campus and that if we didn't get together, faith in humanity would be lost. For my sake, I did my best to let him know that I loved him more than anyone and wanted something more than this ridiculous and unusual camaraderie we shared. But even as the years passed and we graduated and he continues to return to my Gym to visit, he's never had an inkling. He has not dated one girl in all the time that I've known him, and yet even my feelings can't reach him.

On the contrary, someone else's did, and now I'm losing the one person I doubted that I ever would.

If there's something Flint has taught me, it's that I should spit in the face of defeat and rise to be better. That's what he did as an awkward-looking teenager and what he's doing as a pointless adult, and sadly, that's what I've learned. Flint would want me to leave this particular situation alone; let him work it out because it's his life, and he doesn't think he's being destructive at all. His lover has secrets beyond what anybody in the League knows and they will only serve to destroy Flint in the end, no matter how strong the fire of determination is that's inside him. That fire burns brightly for the man that he loves, and although that man isn't me, I can respect that, if not for one thing.

There is electricity in my soul, and I've rarely lost a battle to Flint.

I may be losing now, but my war has only begun.


	2. Part 1

**Flint**

Man, and Volkner wonders why he sucks so much ass that he can't be an Elite Four member? His Gym never has electricity because all he does is sit around and play architect with the traps and totally screw up the entire town so that no one can take a shower, and he goes and whines to _me_of all people about how he has no challengers? Come on, no contenders should be the least of his problems when he fucks up some seven-year-old's Saturday morning cartoons in the house right next to his Gym. He's a jerk, and it's no wonder everyone in Sunyshore still hates him. I say "still" because in spite of the fact that we both grew up there, he is far from the town's crowning jewel. Nobody liked him when he was a kid, and nobody likes him now, as he's still a sulky, immature prick.

He really needs a girlfriend.

But, unfortunately, I am Flint, and I am clearly Volkner's surrogate chick without the wet orafice that he can have sex with to everyone, so I'm responsible for his crap. I mean, come on, I love the guy, but really? He was never this much trouble when we were little. Sure, fine, he never spoke, but at least I got him to do that. And now whenever he mucks up the city's electricity, which is all the time, the officials call me about it. "Oh, Flint Oba!" They cry into the receiver. "You must come here and correct the Gym Leader's deviant behavior! You are a respected member of the Elite Four! Please, for the well-being of your hometown!" Then they blubber some shit I can't hear and I have to drop everything to go and spank Volkner in a town I never really liked anyway.

Like I said, I love the guy. But he really, really needs a girlfriend.

Here I was, once again in lame place I grew up in, trying to chop off the penis of the guy I grew up with. The wind was blowing again on this particular day, and it was threatening to mess up my beautiful afro. If there's something I hate more about Sunyshore than the people that live there, it's the weather. There is always a breeze coming off the nearby sea, or there are always clouds overhead that spew five seconds of rain on the hundreds of roofs before retreating. Honestly, if I were Volkner, I'd just drop everything, clean up my act, and take the Elite Four exam. Leave some other chump to take care of the Gym. It's really only boredom that's making him act so fussy, so maybe hanging around me more often at the League building would correct his attitude.

Or, because he's Volkner and he's forever a rebellious asshole, it won't. But that's what makes him Volkner, and I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. Sadly. Well, maybe for more peace and quiet. And a taller afro.

I pushed open the normally automatic doors of the Sunyshore Gym and stepped inside. Okay, I lied. I kicked them open, because Volkner is pissing me off and I don't care if I put a crack in his glass. That's his issue, not mine, just like this whole blacking out thing, and I'm tired of people coming to me about it. Another correction, I stormed inside, and was met with a huge wall of darkness, impeding my progress through the otherwise illuminated Gym. I put my hands out in front of me to try and navigate the place without using one of my Pokemon, for fear of setting the structure on fire, which would actually help quite a bit in solving the blackouts because Volkner wouldn't have a freaking Gym to fart around in. I placed one palm on what I thought was railing, but instead was a still-hot electric fence. Instantly, I was zapped with static that remained from its formerly charged state, and the searing pain made me yelp and jump back. Pain crackled its way into my veins, amplifying the apparent hairline fracture I'd made in my toe by slamming my foot against the door in my sandals. Of course. Fuck you, Volkner.

While I was hopping around with one hand in my mouth, nursing the shock, and the other holding my throbbing leg, a booming but timid voice shook the interior of the blackness. "Flint?" It asked in a masculine guise, not but a few feet away from me. I whirled my head around and nearly lost my balance, the isolated glow of light stunning me briefly. Close to falling over, I managed to find an actual wall instead of a lethal fence and leaned against it, staring into the dimness at the beacon of light that wanted to kill me.

The speaker was Preston, a long-haired hippie with a guitar strung behind his tall, skinny back, his partially lidded brown eyes alluding to the fact that he was completely stoned right now. He was one of Volkner's Gym trainers, and not someone I was particularly fond of. Frankly, Volkner picked really weird people to work for him—little kids with abnormally powerful Pokemon, potheads like Preston who did nothing but battle sitting down and smoke weed all day, and creepy Ace Trainers who looked about ready to jump someone. Beside him stood his Luxio, shimmering from the elongated Flash that its trainer probably commanded it to use when the lights went out.

"Hey, man," he drawled in the kind of voice you would expect from a teenage junkie. "What's up? Why are you here?"

"Volkner invited me," I lied, wincing as I placed my injured foot back on the ground. "He wants me to help him get the electricity back on. Where can I find him?"

"Oh," Preston said, as if it wasn't obvious that I was here to see his leader. "He's in the basement. Uh, you need a flashlight or something?"

"Yes." No shit.

Reaching to the belt that surrounded his lanky waist, Preston grabbed a cheap plastic light stick that had a body as red as my hair and tossed it to me. I caught it deftly with one hand and flipped it on. The beam was so dull that I could barely maneuver the murky darkness, but I managed to skip my way around the electric fence on one leg and leap toward the stairs in the upper right corner of the miraculously small Gym interior. It was actually kind of nice in here when, you know, the electricity was on. "Thanks," I called back to Preston as I paused at the top of the stairwell with one hand on the banister, wondering how I was going to get down with a fractured limb.

"No problem," Preston answered. "Hey, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself kicking the door again, man?"

"I'll live." The next time that guy calls me "man," there will be hell to pay.

Grabbing onto the metal handrail, I proceeded to jump to every other stair with my good foot like an exotic flamingo, the continuous twinge making me want to drop everything, kill Volkner, and go ballistic. Seriously, why are Gyms so lethal, anyway? The League almost wants to murder their challengers before they even get to me. All I do is stand around and look cool, but Volkner has to make his place a death trap for all those who enter. I suppose it's protocol to test the potential trainers that wish to enter the League, but come on. I'm more of a sadist than Volkner. I would've been the better Gym leader.

I reached the final landing and began to peruse the single concrete room that made up Sunyshore Gym's basement, shining and whipping the flashlight about in a mad frenzy. There were only four walls and a flight of stairs in this room—surely Volkner couldn't be that hard to find, unless he blended into the floor or something, which he commonly did when he wasn't getting laid. "Volk!" I screamed. "Volk, answer me, man! Tell me you're alive!"

A troubled, bitter voice manifested itself right beside my right ear. "You should know where the breaker box is by now, Flint."

Turning about, I found my face inches away from the blond-haired, vivaciously blue-eyed one of my best friend and biggest nuisance. He was scowling deeply, his neck turned slightly around on his shoulders to address me, as both his arms were preoccupied with fiddling in the circuitry of the master control panel of the Gym. His Raichu was milling about close by, a vivid flare in the murky black of the cracked concrete cellar, its electric discharge providing light for its trainer to see. When I met eyes with the Pokemon, its expression brightened. I swear, that Raichu likes me more than Volkner. Then again, who wouldn't? Volkner's got the personality of day-old guacamole.

"Did you jerk off into the breaker box again?" I inquired, reaching down to caress my pained toe. "I told you not to do that. Sunyshore might not have any prostitutes, but there are better ways to satisfy yourself."

"Stop being so vulgar," Volkner scolded as he flipped a few switches in the container, grunting disdainfully when that tactic did not work. "I was rearranging my traps when I overloaded the circuitry. I shouldn't be long. It was just a minor blowout. I'll have the city's power back on soon." He frowned at my precarious position. "What did you do to your foot?"

"I kind of broke it kicking in your door," I confessed sheepishly, "because I'm pissed at you for making me come down here for the third time this month."

"You don't look angry," Volkner observed. "Go sit down. I don't want you to hurt yourself further. Remember, that's what you get for booting things in open-toed sandals. And, correction, I don't believe I ever called you."

I limped over to the empty space beside Raichu, turning off my light and plopping my sore ass down next to the Pokemon. The electric mouse snuffled at the black bracelet on my right wrist and purred with familiarity, bumping up against me with its soft, static-ridden fur. Tentatively, I rubbed behind its ears, recoiling momentarily from the slight zap I received from the charged coat. I was still reliving the electric fence incident from minutes ago—not the first time I've harmed myself with one of Volkner's toys. No, not those toys, you pervert. "The mayor rang me," I reported. "I came out of obligation. And you know that I don't show rage well. I enjoy smoldering quietly and breaking my bones."

"And you wonder why you have so many problems," Volkner mumbled under his breath.

What an dick this guy can be. "_I _have problems?" I snorted skeptically. "You're the one who destroys an entire city's energy source with your tediousness."

The moment that slipped from my mouth, the Gym was suddenly engulfed in a luminous swathe of light, illumining every corner of the dark basement room. The floodlights above ground clicked on, bathing the interior with glorious radiance that Sunyshore rarely saw after Volkner became Gym Leader. On the upper level, I perceived a half-hearted cheer from Volkner's trainers, somewhat relieved that he'd once more fixed the city's electricity from another one of his blunders. Sighing with respite, Volkner ran a finger through his fair, spiky hair.

"Did you get your mail today?" my best friend asked me, completely changing the subject. I saw his eyes wander down to my neck, glancing at the buckled choker around it that had worn even during childhood. I'd had this as long as I've known Volkner—and for years, he's gazed at it while engaging in conversation with me. What, I want to ask him. It's a leather necklace. There's nothing fascinating about it, so why are you staring? Okay, it does kind of make me look a little gay, but it's not that big of a deal. It isn't that noticeable. I think it's kind of badass, actually. Curious but rushed, I brushed that strange motion off and answered his question.

"Yeah," I said, my mouth twitching a bit in amusement as Raichu curled up beside me with the uniformity of a cat. "The usual stuff, you know? Water bills, a statement to update my _Playboy _subscription, and junk mail. I never get anything cool anymore, since you stopped shipping me stuff because it's, quote unquote, 'too expensive.'"

"It is," Volkner defended, calling Raichu back into its Pokeball. "The ground service screws you over with extraneous costs these days. It's easier to just send a Flying Pokemon to deliver packages. And if you want something from Sunyshore, you can get off your lazy ass and come down here on your own. It isn't that far from here to the League building. I'm not going to take time out of my delicate schedule to throw shit in your direction."

"Someone is on his period," I mocked. "Why does my mail concern you?"

Reaching into the pocket of his skinny jeans that were about two sizes too big, Volkner rattled his pocket chain before extracting a folded piece of paper. "I got this letter today from the National League," he input, opening the crease and turning the front toward me so I could read the contents. "Something about a conference that they're holding in Kanto this year? All the Gym Leaders, Elite Four Members, and Champions from every region are supposed to attend and stay in the Celadon Hotel. It's for three days, and it starts next week."

I grabbed the letter and scanned the few paragraphs it contained. I'd been an Elite Four member a few months longer than Volkner being a Gym Leader, but I had never heard of anything like this taking place before. "The fuck is this?" I grumbled. "Nobody else back at the plateau has heard anything. Cynthia hasn't even breathed a word, and she's normally on top of everything." I reread the third line, and my confusion was solved. "Oh, they're mailing the letters first to Gym Leaders, then to everyone else. What good does that do? I don't get paper-pushing officials." I refolded the note and tossed it offhandedly back to Volkner, who gave it a haphazard push back from whence it came. "I guess I'll get it tomorrow or something. It better be legit. I don't want to get scammed. Why ask me about it now? Is it because I'm here?"

Volkner shook his head. "No, it's because they have no money and are doubling up on rooms," he said. "They wrote in an additional slip that came with this letter that everyone that is able to attend has to find a roommate for the three days unless they live in Celadon City or the immediate area. Want to sleep with me?"

I wiggled my eyes at Volkner's accidental connotation. "Why, yes, Volkie," I chuckled. "I would have asked you the same thing, had I been a complete loser Gym Leader and ended up with the letter before you did. In fact, I want to make sweet love to you all night long."

"Your humor fails to amuse me," Volkner said blandly in his staid monotone.

"It's not gay," I replied. "It's erotic. Especially with my afro. It has sex appeal, am I right?"

"I'm assuming that means you'll room with me," Volkner said, turning about with his back to mine as he traversed back up the stairs. "I'll see you next week in Kanto. We can hit the Game Corner before we have to report. In the meantime, go get a cast and fuck yourself."

"Wait, how do I get to Kanto? I don't have a flying Pokemon," I complained.

"Take a train," Volkner said, "like everyone else."

"I love you," I called as he ambled up, his thin form swaying enveloped by the largesse of the staircase's wideness. "You know, on the way here, I thought you needed a girlfriend, but you know what? I'm so glad that you don't. The amount of time we spend together, she'd think you're a homo. And that would totally suck for you. Hey, where are you going? I can't stand up on my own, you know, traitor."

"Not my problem." Volkner disappeared aboveground.

I huffed and hoisted my body on my good foot. "Neither is your Gym mine!" I yelled.

Silence. If Volkner responded, I couldn't hear over the sound of his immense faggotry. Moaning, I bounded toward the exit to this compact vault and made a long reach for the paling that would support me as I walked. Unfortunately, I overshot greatly and ended up with my face planet on the first gray stone step, breathing in the dusty cold that Volkner refused to clean by himself. I laid there for a few minutes, not particularly inclined to get up, because I realized that even after our lighthearted conversation, I was still fuming. I was itching to get up and challenge Volkner, as he only did this arranging nonsense to draw me in fight him—why else would he? Volkner, his idiocy and reticence notwithstanding, was an incredibly powerful trainer. Very few budding battlers got past him to come and face the Elite Four. He was the main reason why we never got to see much action with our own teams. I was Volkner's match in friendship and strength—without one another, we would not be able to grow. As much as I hated to say it, without Volkner, I'd probably wouldn't be where I am today.

He was closer to me than anyone. We completed each other.

"I still love you, bro," I yelled. "Help me, please."

I heard a soft whisper from the top of the stairs, and when I looked up, Volkner was standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets. Slowly, he jogged down until he reached my position. He knelt and extended a helpful but haphazard palm to me.

"Well?" Volkner asked, feigning impatience. "Do you need help or not?"

Smiling, I took his hand.


	3. Part 2

**Wehehehelll. I'm finally back to this...? I'm sorry for my lateness on updating. Life happened. And life will continue to happen, so expect intermittent updates to this. **

**I'd super appreciate it if you dropped me a review. Cookies all around if you do. :D **

**Thanks for your support!**

**-Silent-Protagonist**

****()()()

**Volkner**

I don't remember exactly when I met Flint—all I recall was that it was a very long time ago, before I really knew the world enough to accurately deal with people like him. I'm not sure if I truly want to remember how we became acquainted, actually, as it seems doing so would ruin the strange magic that we share today. Flint was something that just happened, someone that walked into my life without invitation and has stayed there without cessation with the swagger of a somewhat welcome houseguest. Of course, I do recall my age, and my initial reaction at his hair—"That thing on your head looks stupid"—but otherwise, I draw a complete blank about the first words we exchanged. I'm sure they were mostly courtesy of Flint, as I wasn't much of a socialite back in those days. Then again, I'm not now, but at least Flint doesn't have to wheedle speech out of me—or anyone, for that matter.

The truth of it all is that Flint helped me out of my shell. Okay, correction, he dragged me from it, but the effort was made, regardless of the verb I use. He was just the friendliest person on the planet, and he was bound and determined to make me the same way. He kind of failed at that, but at least he managed to help me get over my fear of other people and hatred to the neglectful parents that did not raise me. In the process, he turned himself into an asshole, but somehow, that's all right, because I still love him, his snide outlook at life notwithstanding. Flint sees his position as my surrogate older brother with a vastly redder shade of hair and an even darker one of idiosyncrasy.

Which is why I know my feelings are doomed.

Flint has never looked at me with anything other than love—and it's not the love I have toward him. Yes, he is my bloodless sibling, but at the same time, I feel that I want to commit incest. I want to say that it's because he's not as receptive to people's opinions of him, and that if he realized how deeply I need him aside from a jerk who shows up at my Gym during emergencies to harass me, he'd be different. But, truthfully, Flint can't and won't be something more, simply because he is unable to see it. I couldn't imagine the negative impact a confession would have on our friendship. He's straight and I know it—he's merely not found the right woman to compliment him yet. And when that happens, what will I do? Will he move on and forget about me? Flint is independent and gracious. People instinctively flock to him, as they are repelled by me. He'd do fine without me. A respected member of the Elite Four and a master of Fire Pokemon—I might be as good as him in terms of battling, but Flint has a reputation. Mine is nowhere near the caliber of his. If he hooked up with a girl, there would be no dearth of praise on his part.

Where would that leave me? Alone again, like I was before?

I can't live without Flint; and I hope he knows that, because maybe that will make him stay.

()()()

"Are you Volkner of the Sunyshore Gym?" asked a petite, bleached blond teenage girl with abnormally large breasts and a vacant stare sitting across from Flint and I on the Bulllet Train extension line from Sinnoh to Kanto two days following the blackout incident. She was regarding me with awe in her unsettlingly pale blue eyes, shimmering with the curiosity of a small dog. I wanted desperately to maintain eye contact with her—as Fint said, the way to captivate people is to do just that—but I was so disturbed by her blank, robotic irises that I had to revert my gaze to her cleavage, nestled impressively and openly in a body-hugging blue shirt with a dangerously low neck. I might have been in love with Flint, but her chest was a welcome distraction.

_Breasts. Just stare at her breasts, Volkner. She probably likes that._

Flint, who was sitting between myself and my frayed lime green suitcase full of our shared clothing and extra hair gel for him, elbowed me sharply in the ribs. The turbulence created by the friction of the tracks and the fairly empty passenger train—there was only the two of us and this intrusive girl in this particular car—made his attack bruise me deeply. Wincing, I rubbed where he'd jabbed me and glared at him out of the corner of my vision. Covering for my pathetic ass, Flint smiled pleasantly and ran a black bracelet-clad hand through his red hair, which was puffy and obnoxious, as usual.

"No, actually, I'm Volkner of the Sunyshore Gym," he falsely corrected. I opened my mouth to snap at him for deluding her, but Flint clapped a hand across my mouth and pinched my cheek, his eyes not deviating from hers for a minute. I squealed like a girl into his hand, then wanted to sink into the seat with shame.

The blonde frowned, sensing that this mysterious man with the suspicious afro was lying. "But I thought Volkner had yellow hair," she whined in a high-pitched, stereotypical spoiled-rich-girl voice that kind of made me want to kill myself. "You look like Flint from the Elite Four."

Flint slid me a mock pained look at the yellow hair comment. "Nope, I dyed my hair," Flint said, thumping his chest cheerfully with his free fist. "I decided that my old hairstyle was stupid and unattractive. It used to look like my husband's here." He pointed at me, and I immediately bit down on his hand. Yelping, he drew his hand away, and I gaped at him. _Husband?!_ What the hell was he doing? Messing with a stranger, as he normally does to pass the time? The use of that word made the heat swirl to my cheeks and my heart become stuck in the back of my throat.

The girl's eyes widened, as if she were conflicted about two men caressing each other in a sexualized way. Of course, Flint and I would only be doing that in my wildest dreams. "Boys can get _married_?" She gasped. "How do you guys… you know, do it?"

"Well, you see," Flint began, holding up three fingers, "you prepare with a lot of lubrication and pressure to the anus."

I reached over and smacked him.

"My husband doesn't like me talking about our sex life in public," Flint said to the wide-eyed, blatantly disgusted young woman, her jaw plummeting to the floor of the moving train in shock that her curiosity had led her this far. "He's a little shy. But he certainly isn't this way in the bedroom." Grinning over at me, Flint grabbed for my hand to maintain the prank, and I swatted him away. The very thought of his hand in mine—in such an open place!—even to facilitate a joke unnerved me. I knew I should've hitched a ride with Cynthia on her Milotic instead of taking the train with Ass-fro here, but I was worried about him. Flint was a jokester, but I was afraid he'd get lost on his way to the station or end up steamrolled by prostitutes somewhere in Hoenn unless I was there to supervise. I really needed to wean myself from Flint's blatant idiocy, but he practically required our friendship in order to survive. He was my oxygen, and I was his. If we were separated even just for a journey to the same location, we might accidentally sever an artery.

Still, I was being publically humiliated by my best friend, and I desired to punch him for that. Most psychiatrists say that playful teasing is healthy in a relationship, yet Flint's bullying seemed like a precursor to something else. And that something else was not romance or even wild, single-night sex. Flint was just weird, which made me realize further that I was not going to get anywhere.

Flint was now completely and rudely ignoring the now petrified young woman that he'd been toying with for the past five minutes as he slung an arm around my shoulder, his tanned, muscular arm draped on the back of my seat. The appendage was a bit too close for comfort, and I found myself leaning forward to avoid any contact. "So what's Kanto like?" he inquired to me. "I've never been there before. The only time I've been out of the Sinnoh region was when we took that field trip to Johto before we took our exams at the Academy for some sort of 'historical lesson,' remember? That place smelled horrible, but there were a lot of sexually willing women. And food, there was a ton of food."

I was rather tempted to tell him the truth—that Kanto was decrepit and dirty, full of strange fetishists and ambitious children that never went anywhere. It was the second-oldest region in the nation, Johto being the first, and that was certainly no excuse for how it was kept. The towns were littered with human trash and literal garbage, Ekans-oil salesmen and wine bottles from the fifties. To be fair, Celadon City, where we were slated to stay, was one of the nicer locations in the region, but its fragrant flowers and trimmed foliage could not detract from the grunginess that hung over the land. Kanto's sole claim to fame was Red, the legendary, mute teenage trainer that trounced the Pokemon League without a single word and then resided on Mount Silver until the lone Champion from Johto arrived and defeated him. This was long ago, back when Flint and I had barely started high school, so Red was probably our age now. I doubted he was still training. Even his existence was now in vain.

"It's okay," I lied. To be honest, Kanto wasn't terrible. Slightly abysmal, yes, but I had a feeling Flint would enjoy Celadon. I'd visited there once or twice with my vapid parents as a child, and it was at least lively—unlike places such as Cinnabar Island, which had been swept desolate by a volcanic eruption last year, or Lavender Town. The latter had a reputation that no one dared to talk about, especially those who lived there. The Gym Leader there was a Grass-Type specialist, and I figured Flint would get a kick out of challenging her. And Celadon City had a stunning nightlife, something Flint loved to partake in. I wasn't much of a partier, but I often tagged along with Flint, just to assert the illusion that I was being social.

"I heard they have a nice department store," Flint observed. "Jasmine told me all about it. Apparently, everyone has shopped there. Even Lance orders his capes from Celadon City. We're famous, so we should go."

I rolled my eyes. _Yuck, Lance._ The Johto Champion was not very revered in my book—or really anybody's in the Gym Leaders' and Elite Four Association. He had many fans, most of whom were female, unsurprisingly. But he was notorious for his lover, a sixteen-year-old boy that had a temper as Red as Flint's lame afro. The kid was an open secret—and a besmirching one at that—but because he was legal, no one could object. What was his name? Silver? Diamond? Amethyst? Something that paralleled him to a stripper. "Why would we want to shop anywhere that Lance does?" I grunted. "The shelves are probably covered with his pedophilic germs."

"Hey, that's harsh," Flint chided. "He's not a pedophile. They like little kids. Silver's not that young. He's basically an adult. It's kind of wrong, but not completely."

_So his name_ is _Silver._ "There is no level of wrongness," I observed. "It's either immoral or it isn't."

"Good point," Flint said. "But you speak as if you haven't done anything sinful."

I eased my gaze to meet Flint's. His vibrant brown eyes assessed me, waiting for my reply, still as bright and loyal as the day we met. They tantalized me—made me feel inferior, my simple blue irises dull in comparison to his. Flint's dark glint reminded me of the person I could've been, had my past not been the way it had. With even one more second of support, I'd be him, laughing and sarcastic, unafraid of the world and its many hurdles. Flint was clumsy and tripped often, but he was always back up on his feet—and you could see that reflected in his expression. There was nothing short of heroism and honesty in his spirit, qualities that I could never dream of having. Flint was who I wasn't. That was why I loved him.

That was why I stayed with him.

"You have an afro," I responded smoothly.

Scoffing, Flint brushed imaginary dust off his yellow shirt. "That is not corrupt," he argued. "It's stylish. It's fashionable. It's fabulous. No one can disagree."

Staring up at the massive red ball that was Flint's hairstyle, I sighed. "I do," I said. "I thought it was ridiculous when I met you, and I continue to think that to this day."

"At least I'm not blond." He arched one eyebrow. "Like some people on this train."

I heard the woman across from us huff in annoyance. Clearly, she believed that he was talking about her.

I glared at him. "You wear suspenders that you don't even use," I continued, overlooking his snide comment.

Flint snuck a look at the crimson suspenders that hung beside his thighs, garnishing his baggy black pants that occasionally offered an offensive hint of flame-patterned boxer shorts to unsuspecting onlookers. "Okay, you win," he grumbled, taking one in his hand and tugging at it. "These are kind of pointless. But hey, they enhance my image, so whatever."

"What image?" I snorted. "The one of you being the try-hard dipshit of the Elite Four? _Flint Oba._" I glanced over at the woman who erroneously believed that our roles were reversed and that we were indeed romancing each other, her countenance morphing from disgust into shock and bitterness. Even on my end, it was not a very welcome thought. I would never—not even on a bet—dye my hair and transform it into Flint's. Inversely, I refused to believe that Flint would wear blue, so the idea cancelled itself out.

"You were lying to me?" She squeaked.

Flint turned his head to simper at her. "Bitch, were we talking to you?" He asked brashly.

As the pair dissolved into a shrieking match, I glanced out the window, taking in the blur of trees and blending scenery, connecting in a swift ball as we passed them by. The sky was exceptionally blue today, but it appeared a bit lonely without even the smallest cloud to keep it company. Retrospect was an ugly, unwanted visitor, and it descended upon me as I noticed the sadness in such a normally jovial thing. The years before I knew friendship resumed me, and for the briefest of moment, the rage boiling nearby became white noise, and I was forlorn. Unintentionally, I leaned toward the fidgeting Flint, yearning for the heat of the fire that burned inside him to warm the sudden draft that consumed me.

In the midst of his quarrel, I noticed Flint reach up and gingerly touch the black choker around his neck.

_Oh._


	4. Part 3

**Flint**

Volkner was right—this region _does_ suck.

Well, Celadon City is all right, but it's still pretty trashy for being the "cleanest place in Kanto," as their town slogan reads on a giant plaque right before you enter city limits. Volkner told me something about a "stunning nightlife" (and Volkner rarely uses creative imagery, so I figured it had to be a big deal), but all I saw in relation to "stunning" is the blinding amount of electricity this city uses. In all seriousness, it's an ugly place. The streets are cobblestone, which gives the city a charming, archaic ambiance, but the street sweepers might as well have been cleaning the gutters with used tissues. I swear to God, as Volkner and I tried desperately to hail a taxi once we disembarked from the train, I got hit on by a prostitute. My first five minutes in Kanto, and some chick is already offering me her vagina. Hey, I know I'm hot, but getting propositioned by someone whose job is to have sex with everything that has a pulse is insulting. Volk and I managed to crawl into the backseat of a bus before the heroin-pervaded and extremely smelly whore could give me a second glance.

"You lied to me," I said once Volkner and I were situated in the cracked blue seats of the grimy, nearly-empty vehicle. The entire bus was empty sans us, the bus driver, and a homeless guy completely naked except for a pair of underwear and a ratty tan overcoat, snoring loudly with the right side of his face squished against a pole.

Volkner stared at the guy with bored disdain. It was three in the morning, after all, and everyone was exhausted—Volk and I were beat from having to ride on that goddamned train with the same chick I conned for an additional four hours, pretending to sleep on each other's shoulders while she gave me smoldering glares over her cell phone screen that could easily ignite any flammable object around the three of us. If looks could kill, the Elite Four would be short one member. I'm not sure what the guy trying to reconstruct his face with the bus pole was doing that entailed him going around sans normal clothing, but I assumed it probably involved the mob. Only the bus driver seemed to be chipper, whistling "Good Day Sunshine," because obviously the sun was up. Prick.

"How did I lie to you?" Volkner asked, picking up a wadded-up hamburger wrapper at his feet and tossing it at the sleeping beauty. The man stirred slightly and his snoring momentarily caught, but he was out again in seconds. "I said this place was okay. Not wonderful. This is Kanto, not Unova. You can't expect the building walls to be spotless and the hookers to be contained in brothels. I said there's a good nightlife and an excellent Gym Leader. There's nothing else to it."

"Some fucking good a nightlife does us at three hours before dawn," I snorted. "Even the most hardcore partiers are in bed by two in the morning. Seriously, couldn't we have gotten here any faster?"

"We were on a train," Volkner said levelly, "not a Pidgeot. Be patient. We have three days here—that's plenty of time to go out and have fun. Quit whining and concentrate on when we get off this damn thing."

"The letter said it was the fourth stop from the train station," I remarked. "Man, that's too damn long. I'll bet you even lied to me about the Celadon hotel, too. Five-star? Hah! Ten bucks says there are cockroaches in the bagels during the breakfast hours and Ratattas crawling up the sewage pipes into your ass while you try to take a shit."

Lowering his head, Volkner tucked a strand of his towheaded hair behind his ear, the lock resting perfectly above a large mole he had on his earlobe. Dropping his gaze, he murmured in a voice that was purposely loud enough for me to hear. "I knew I should've taken up Cynthia's offer for a ride," he whispered.

"I heard that," I protested.

"That was my intention," Volkner responded. Stretching back far enough that he nearly hit the grimy bus window with his balled-up fist, Volkner let loose an incredibly loud and exaggerated yawn. "Fuck this, I'm exhausted." Shifting slightly in his seat, he leaned over to his left and rested his very blond head on my shoulder. His eyes were drooping, unsurprisingly—Volkner was never much of a night owl. I'd wanted to go clubbing with him in the early morning hours numerous times during our academy days, but he'd always turned me down for his bed. It was just one of the many quirks he had that made me make fun of him. All in good humor, of course.

"Stay awake, man," I prompted, even though I noticed that my eyelids were getting heavy as well. "It might be far away, but you can't fall asleep on me. You'll stain my shirt with your drool."

"Don't care," Volkner mumbled. He closed his eyes completely. Before I could open my mouth in protest, light snores rose from Volkner's partially open lips, indicating (probably falsely; he was most likely faking it to quit talking to me) that he was asleep.

Disgruntled, I found that I had no choice but to glance out the window at the city life outside, the neon signs and flashing signals of the party district streaking by in flashes of amalgamated color. Even at three o'clock in the morning, I noticed that quite a few people were out and about—I could not focus on any, as the speed of the bus well exceeded any opportunity to study the milling throngs on the sidewalks, but the sheer number of blurring skins was evident. Couples of every sexuality holding hands or kissing, groups of transsexual hookers converging in alleyways, town drunks that believed that rectifying themselves of their addictions constituted of wandering about with no location in mind—all types, all ethnicities, and all genders were out tonight. Kanto was interesting in its broad range of population and the fact that people walked the streets after midnight. Sinnoh's cities were much different; it was like they had a prescribed bedtime, as it was hard to find anything open after twelve, even in places such as Sunyshore or Jubilife.

The mix was intriguing. Maybe I'd have some fun here after all.

"Hey, Volk. This place isn't that bad," I intoned to the yellow head on my shoulder. Volkner continued to snore. I rolled my eyes. _Dumbass._ What would he do without me? Fall asleep on an adjacent semen-coated public transportation seat, indefinitely. I hated pandering to his quirks, but we were best friends, so I suppose it had to be done.

Gradually, I felt the bus slow, crawling to a steady stop at the cracked corner of an abstract stucco building. Its sickly pastel walls were covered with graffiti, painted with everything from gang signs to obscene words that I tend to use in my everyday vernacular. A shiver crept up my spine, and I could only hope that we were in the rough part of Celadon City. Pulling out the map that Volkner had provided me with after we'd disembarked from the train, I saw that we were only one stop away from the hotel. _Thank Arceus._ I wanted to get off here pronto. The guy in the man panties and coat hadn't even woken up, and I was concerned about what would happen if he did before Volk and I were gone.

The electronic doors to the bus hissed open, allowing on the fuzzy form of a new passenger that was standing beside a slightly removed lamppost, its single lightbulb flickering ominously as if I was stuck in a horror film. Silently, I prayed that the newcomer wouldn't be a serial killer, as his position beneath the street light seemed to portend. I already had a homeless nudist and potential pedophile with me on here—and Volkner! Jesus, Volkner's temper was more hazardous than any stranger. I was more scared for my life with his cheek on my neck than the guy getting on. At the first warning of danger, I'd be out of here like a Lucario with Extremespeed, despite the fact that my fucking toe was still cracked and I hadn't had time to put it in a cast between the day I'd broken it in Volkner's gym and now. My body tensed just enough to poise myself for bolting if I needed to, but not so violently that I woke Volkner. He got grumpy if he was bothered.

But when the stranger got on, I found myself transfixed.

She—or he, a very effeminate he, because very few women were _that_ flat-chested—swaggered onto the bus with a smooth, long gait, the flat and lanky form shapeless but heavily attractive. Curly waves of luscious red hair hung below their shoulders, greasy and knotted from some sort of onerous physical activity. In spite of it disheveled appearance, I still wanted to run my fingers through the ragged mane, wondering how soft and silky it was when properly washed. The face so elegantly framed by that crimson shock was pale but free of blemishes, a buttonlike nose tacked directly below a set of intensely soulful red eyes that shimmered behind a pair of thick, smudged glasses. The traveler's clothes were simple—cargo khaki pants and a black shirt—but they were blackened with incredibly dark blotches, as if they'd been travailing through a coal mine or something similar. Interestingly enough, after I made mental note of that, I saw a red mining helmet tucked under the crook of their left arm, packed right next to a dark green backpack. Sticking a gloved hand into their pocket, the stranger fished out a dollar to place in the bus's toll box and scanned the interior for a place to sit. Their captivating eyes settled on me, and a cheerful smile swelled across their face.

_I'm in love._

"Hello." The stranger had a voice—and it was exceptionally deep, regarding how thin and tiny the speaker appeared to be. Yep, it was definitely a guy. No chick ever sounds that gravelly and, dare I say, sexy. Years ago, I'd discovered that I had no problem sexually cavorting with men as well as women, so my sudden attraction to this superbly fuckable enigma did not surprise me. I'd had my fair share of run-ins with members of the same sex (though I still thought boobs were a lot more fun than nothing on top), because hey—I was in college back then, and college is the time for experimentation. Salient information Volkner never learned about, thankfully. If he ever hears about that particular part of my past, he might actually kill me. No kidding.

"Hey," I responded, amazed at the velvetiness of my tone. Internally, I was flustered, but I guess I wasn't showing it. "What's up?"

"Not much," the guy admitted, shrugging. The time he took to give me answer provided me with a chance to assess his age. He looked extremely young—nineteen at the most. I was hoping he wasn't underage, at least. If he was, pursuing him would make me a total dick. "I'm in town for the Gym Leaders' and Elite Four conference, and I just happened to get here. I'm on my way to the Celadon Hotel. Is that where you're headed?"

Glancing down, I realized that I'd completely overlooked the two Pokeballs on his belt. _Oh._ "It just so happens that Sparky and I are here for the same reason," I said. Reaching up, I beckoned with one finger and motioned to the empty seat next to me. "Come on, sit your ass down over here."

With an even wider grin, the trainer walked over, his hiking boots tromping loudly on the floor mats as the bus lurched into action once more. His hips swung perceptibly from side to side as he made his way over to me and sat down diffidently to my left, placing his load down on the ground under his feet. When he turned to make eye contact with me, I locked my jaw, fearing that my watering mouth might spill out onto my lap. He smelled enticingly like stone and dust, denoting that he'd been doing some digging. _Refrain from the urge to make a dirty joke, Flint. Dirty? Haha, I made one anyway. Oh my Arceus, he's so sexy._

"So you're a Gym Leader?" I inquired, trying to make some sort of effective small talk that may or may not have gotten him into my pants later.

"Yes," the anonymous trainer confirmed. "I'm the leader of the Oreburgh City gym. I just started out a couple of weeks ago."

_Oreburgh City? He's from_ Sinnoh? _How the hell have I not seen him before?_ Each region had their own separate meetings monthly, and both Volkner and I were there to hear about the old dickwad Oreburgh City leader getting kicked out last month for some sort of debauched sex scandal with a sixteen-year-old girl or something, but I'd assumed Riley from Iron Island would've taken over that position. Byron from Canalave City had joint ownership of the Gym in Oreburgh and had asked Riley numerous times to fill that hole, but I suppose he'd turned it down. Still, even though this kid was brand-new, I was stunned that I hadn't heard anything about it until now. Not even Volkner had said anything. "I see," I said, still confused. Regardless, I thrust out my hand in greeting. "Well, welcome to the League. It's full of shit. My name is—"

Smilingly, the young man shook my hand. The connection of his rough glove against my palm was electrifying. "Flint Oba, the Fire-type master of the Sinnoh Elite Four," he finished, cutting me off. "I know very well who you are." To my disappointment, he let go of me and pointed to Volkner, who was now leaving no doubt in my mind that he was out like the lights in his Gym. "And that's Volkner Denzi, the Sunyshore City Gym Leader. I learned about you the first day I was nominated by my father to lead the Oreburgh Gym."

"Who's your daddy?" I asked, trying not to make that sound utterly lecherous. Clearing my throat, I crossed my legs to hide the obvious boner that was poking through the fabric of my black pants. Baggy jeans do not bode well with sexual arousal.

"Byron Hyouta," the kid said. "I'm Roark Hyouta. I grew up in Canalave City and moved to Oreburgh to take over the mine when I turned eighteen. My father has been the Gym Leader in Canalave for most of his life, and he assumed that I'd be able to take over the Oreburgh Gym when the positioned opened up and Riley from Iron Island said he didn't want to do it." Roark blushed and dropped his gaze slightly, gripping his pants with a nervous, shy smile. "Unfortunately, I'm not a very good Gym Leader. I've lost every match I've had so far."

Out of sight of Roark and his sweet ass, I narrowed my eyes. I vaguely recalled Byron talking about having a son from his late wife, but I probably hadn't been listening at the time to catch his name. To be frank, Byron was a loudmouth and a drunkard, and he groped practically everything that moved. He hadn't hit on me or Volkner yet, mercifully, but I was expecting it any day now. I wondered how any woman had tolerated him long enough to copulate and produce this awfully handsome spawn. Even more curiously, how had she passed away? I didn't know, and didn't really care to find out—considering that she was with Byron, I'm sure it was a freak accident of some sort. Still, I did pity Roark, especially since he was so damn cute and his dad was such a prick.

"You'll get used to it," I promised. "Volkner here used to lose a shit-ton of matches before he got really good at fucking up the minds of every challenger by constantly renovating his Gym. Pray tell that you don't become like him in his early days. Stick with it. Being in the League might feel like crap sometimes, with the pay and accommodations and lack of vacation days, but it's fun. I swear."

"Yeah, that's what my dad says," Roark agreed. He folded his hands modestly in his lap and smiled down at his hands. _I want to jump his bones. Right now._

I pointed to his mussed, threadbare outfit. "You run the Oreburgh mine? I guess that explains your clothes," I mused. To be honest, I thought his filthy appearance was kind of sexy. It made him seem to be the type of rugged outdoorsman that you might find in a low-budget porno. Volkner, on the other hand, was still on the verge of death and being his characteristically unattractive self. Volkner wouldn't make porn; he'd protest it in a nun's habit or something. At that image, something perished within me. _Well, hey, at least that softened my boner._ I uncrossed my legs, now free of incipient horniness.

Roark immediately brightened at the mention of his hobby. "Yeah, I do!" He exclaimed, effervescent as champagne bubbles. "I love the mine. It's my second home. Oreburgh has a fantastic coal reserve, and the vein seems to run deep underground. We could power Sinnoh for quite a few decades with the amount of fuel we unearth." I saw him visibly puff up with pride before deflating momentarily and blushing slightly, the pink tinge coloring his blanched cheeks. "… And I was in the Underground, helping some tourists find fossils before getting packed to travel. I didn't have time to change. Sorry about that. I… I didn't think I'd find anybody good-looking enough for me to worry about my appearance." He slid me a covert look that was almost sly in its stealth.

My heart leaped and caught itself in my throat. _Is he… calling me—_

_Screech._ Abruptly, the bus driver slammed on the brakes, apparently forgetting that another stop was coming up in a second. My thoughts were discontinued as the vehicle staggered to a halt, sending me close to tumbling over Volkner's lap. At that moment, Volkner decided to wake up, and looked down with a halfhearted grunt at the sight of my face buried in his crotch. "You aren't getting any tonight, Flint," he told me before plucking me quietly by my afro from his pants and discarding me back in my original spot.

Scoffing, I brushed myself off. "What makes you think I want to sleep with you?" I snorted. "I found someone much more alluring than you'd ever hope to be." I motioned to Roark, believing that my flirt would be reciprocated, seeing as the guy basically made a pass on my cock. At least, that's what I thought, but when I noticed Roark's face color to the shade of his striking hair, I realized I'd made a dire mistake.

"E-erm, thank you very much for keeping me company," Roark stammered hastily, standing up so quickly that he nearly toppled over in his enormous boots. "I'll s-see you two at the c-conference, I-I suppose?" Struggling to gather his items, he dipped his head respectfully but rapidly. Wasting no time—nor any more breath—Roark dashed off the bus, virtually leaving skid marks behind in his alacrity. The high I'd been riding for the last few minutes or so instantly plummeted, falling into the pit of my acidic stomach and gobbling it up, leaving behind nothing but a feeling of serious regret. Great. My one recent chance at getting a hookup, and I royally screwed it over. What would be next? Volkner being shocked at my fractional homosexuality?

"I thought you only liked chicks," Volkner observed blandly, watching Roark go with minor amusement. "Why are you hitting on the exceptionally young leader of the Oreburgh Gym, out of curiosity?"

Damn. He didn't even seem shaken. How disappointing. And he _did_ know about Roark being the new leader. _Asshole, not keeping me updated on these kinds of things._ "He's adorable," I said. "That candy ass is irresistible. Well, would've been, anyway, had I not opened my big mouth like that."

"It's your stupid hair that gives you brass balls," Volkner said. "And you wonder why you never get laid. Byron's going to castrate you, by the way."

"Byron doesn't have to know," I complained.

"He'll probably find out one way or another," Volkner said. Standing up, he thrust his finger in the direction of the exit of the bus. "This is the hotel stop. Now get out and check in with me so we can go to bed. Also, if I hear you use the terminology 'candy ass' ever again in my presence, I will break your other toe." Pivoting on his heel, Volkner grabbed our shared duffel bag and left the automobile, leaving me alone with the cheeseburger-reeking driver and the semi-naked vagabond, who still showed no sign of awakening. Perhaps he was dead. I was tempted to go over and poke him to make sure, but I decided not to tempt fate. Sighing, I rose and hobbled onto the street, being careful not to touch the gritty interior of the vehicle as I did so. Volkner was waiting for me on the concrete curb when I arrived, his face bordered by the wild lights of Celadon city. Giving me a distasteful sniff, Volkner walked inside the Celadon Hotel beneath its impressive awning, not allowing me to catch up with him.

As I followed him in, I had a passing image of Roark, paying the toll to the bus driver.

_I have really got to stop being an asshole sometimes._


	5. Part 4

**See? This story is not dead. It will never be dead! I reassure you, there will be updates to come! ... Probably just as late as this one, but they will happen. **

**Thanks for being so understanding! Please drop me a review if you have the time!**

**-Silent-Protagonist**

****()()()

**Volkner**  
_The next day_

"Well, did you tell him that bugged you?"

"You're a stupid cunt, Jasmine. Why would I do that?"

"Because he might actually listen for once?"

I scoffed. Yeah, Flint, listening. And Digletts could fly up my ass. "Jas, has Flint ever sat down and had a decent two-way conversation with you in the entire time that you've been friends? Give me an honest answer here."

Leaning back in her chair, Jasmine tipped back dangerously on the back legs and wobbled there, keeping her balance as she crossed her arms over her chest and collected her wits with a sigh. Internally, I cringed. That hapless action was a very Flint-esque one—Jasmine was normally ladylike in the presence of others, but around me and Afro Boy, she was generally lax and did a lot of farting. Jasmine was currently the Gym Leader of Olivine City, a rousing port city in Johto, but she'd grown up as a classmate in Sunyshore with me and Flint. Although Flint and I were the capital pair, Jasmine was the occasional third wheel, coming over with me after school to Flint's house to play video games and smoke weed as we got into high school. On the outside, Jasmine was thin, petite, pasty white with stringy brown hair hanging past just past her shoulder blades, tied up in two minute pigtails that resembled the wings of a gay butterfly. With her round, mousy eyes and her meek exterior, people believed that she was sweet and mild-mannered—and usually she was, but getting her alone with me and/or Flint revealed her true colors. Once a rebel, always a rebel.

"I guess you're right," she relented. "Listening skills are certainly not Flint's most redeeming qualities. But he's a good guy when he tries."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he'll hear me out," I argued. "Flint was infatuated. To be honest, I've never seen him go so ga-ga over another person—another dude, no less. I mean, I should be happy about this, but—"

"He's not going crazy over you." God, I loved Jasmine, but she had the most annoying, high-pitched tone of a whine. She definitely fit the vocal bill for "supreme bitch." "That's what you're saying."

I shot her a glare. "Would you shut your yap for five minutes and let me vent?" My voice dropped an octave or two in a rebuffing gesture. "And pipe down, Jas. We're not exactly alone right now."

As Jasmine glanced sheepishly around the room that we were conversing in, I saw the corners of her taut lips curve downward in disappointment. Indeed, we were far from isolation in our private little chat—in fact, truth be told, we were currently surrounded with every Gym Leader and Elite Four member from here to Unova, and a tidbit of gossip went a long way in the League. It was roughly ten in the morning, post-mediocre breakfast that was catered by this three-and-a-half star hotel, and the enormous crowd that had picked at that meager excuse for a meal was now pouring in at an accelerated rate. The first part of the three-day forum was being held in the type of conference room that was uniform in hotels like these—sporting long, yawning windows that gave a clean view of the street below and a tidy mint-green carpet that matched the wallpaper and was probably vacuumed three times per day. Jasmine and I were sitting at one of the wide tables in uncomfortable metal folding chairs, shifting our asses to try and settle ourselves impossibly and vapidly watching people spill in from the outside. Even though we were conversing at a rather excessive volume, none of the entering and exiting people seemed to take too much notice.

Still, Jasmine was putting my neck on a chopping block by talking about my crush on Flint in public. For one, Jasmine was an infamous gossip—the type to sit around in her panties at all-girl sleepovers and talk about secrets like mine after the lesbian sex was over. Okay, yeah, Jasmine was a good friend of mine and probably wouldn't spill any of my beans, but I could never be too careful. And rumors were the herpes of the Pokemon League—tell one Gym Leader, and soon enough, everyone from Janine in Kanto to her dead mother knew. I loved my friendship with Jasmine, but I wasn't too sure if she loved a juicy scandal more than me.

Jasmine rolled her grey eyes, a pragmatic reflection of her specialization in the Steel type. Yet another reminder of a further advantage she had—my Electric Pokemons' weakness to hers. "Whatever. No one is listening. Plus, it's not like anyone would be shocked if you came out or anything. You've had a boner for Flint before you were born, Volkner. It's so obvious that hiding it would make you look even gayer."

"What? I'm sorry, I didn't expect my fetus to be so advanced," I shot back. "You weren't already a bitch in the womb?"

"I forgot, a few months away from you and I forget what a douche you can be." Jasmine sniffed and cracked her knuckles. "So Flint got the hots for Roark. Who cares? It's not like the emotions will last. Flint is as detached and numb as a wet noodle. And he doesn't exactly fit in the 'bangable' stigma. I highly doubt that Roark, being as meek and new as he is, even finds Flint remotely attractive. Believe me, I met the guy last week while he was in Kanto visiting Brock. I happened to be in Pewter City, so I dropped by. He's a weird kid." She slid me a staid glance. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you're the only one who thinks Flint is sexy. He seems to be the type that brags about being really good in bed, but in reality has no consideration for getting the other person off. Also, he has that afro. I would not sleep with him just because of the afro. It, like, has a mind of its own."

"Flint is _not_sexy," I said. "I've known him for too long for me to find him sexy. Flint is… I don't know. I'm in love with him. What can I say?"

"You want his dick."

"No, I do not want his dick!"

"Yes, you do," Jasmine pressed. "The basis of all romantic attachment is sex. Duh. You do want his dick. You want it so badly, even though it's probably really small and shriveled. And…" Leaning forward, I caught a conspiratorial glint in Jasmine's expression. "… you'll get a mouthful of his _red pubes._"

My hand ended up on my face, rubbing across my gritty skin in repetition. I'd been so wrapped up over Flint last night that I hadn't taken a shower when we'd arrived at our room. "That's disgusting," I groaned. "Just stop it. Go antagonize someone else."

"Impossible," Jasmine said. "Flint isn't here yet, so I can't bother him. And I'm not friends with anyone else that's milling about." Flickering her eyes about to the sole two early birds aside from us—Koga, Janine's father and the second Elite Four member in Johto, and Candice, who was a Gym Leader from Snowpoint City in Sinnoh—Jasmine frowned. "By the way, where is he? I thought you two were rooming together. Why didn't he come down with you to eat breakfast?"

From my hand, my face plummeted to hit the table, squishing my nose against the shimmering wood surface and depriving me of air—something I didn't care too much about, because after the agitated way Flint and I had interacted last night when we got to our room, I wouldn't mind dying. Once we'd checked in and gotten our room keys—an action done in unsettling silence, for Flint had done nothing but stare at the passing walls as we made our way down the wide halls of the Celadon Hotel—Flint had shoved into our cramped space, dropped down on the double bed closest to the window, and buried his body under the seafoam covers. He'd abandoned his duffel bag by the door, and I kicked it in a disgruntled manner, less annoyed by his lack of cleanliness and more bothered by his reticence.

_"What's the matter with you?"_I'd inquired as I headed toward the dresser to unpack my belongings.

Flint hadn't answered, his only source of contact with the space outside the bed being his afro, which was sticking out brightly in the dark from his shelter.

_"At least take a shower, man,"_ I'd prompted. _"You have to make an effort to look nice tomorrow, you know."_

_"Go eat a dick,"_Flint had moaned, his voice muffled.

_"Don't be so pissy,"_ I'd instructed. _"You'll see Roark again tomorrow. You can apologize to him then. Quit whining like a little girl who's just lost her first love."_

_"You don't get it,"_ Flint had murmured, _"because you've never had feelings for anyone."_

His words had slapped me in the face, the retaliation like a bee sting as a harsh, bitter blush covered my cheeks, luckily unseen in the pitch blackness of our hotel room. Why would he say something like that? This emerging thought was quickly trounced by another: Why _wouldn't_ he? He absolutely no knowledge of my deeply-set emotions toward him, feelings that had gone unanswered and obstructed in private for years. Flint was the only person I'd ever loved, and my strict concealing of this secret coupled with my lack of social relationships during our time together led him to believe that I was simply an asexual prick that refused romantic interactions or opportunities to score. In all actuality, I _did_want someone to hold and kiss, to touch and love—it was just that the only person that happened to pique my interest in that area happened to be Flint.

Right then, as I stood over Flint's lumpy form in the bed, I considered telling him how I'd always felt—getting it over with and off my chest, so that the skeleton in the closet I'd kept hidden could finally come to life. And yet somehow, I'd stopped myself and trudged pitifully off to the bathroom so I could clean up from the long train ride instead of facing the fears that had become rote to me. The words I so desperately wanted to say were eternally caught in my throat, a bird that could never fly free. I hated the lie that I lived, but what could I do to extricate myself from it? Flint was my best friend and, frankly, all I had. If I told him and he rejected me, I'd be alone, and I refused to be forlorn again, as I was before I met him. The rage that suffused me as a child was a constant reminder to my adult memories to cling to the people around me and never let them go. Here I was, faced with the imbroglio to choose between my best friend and the sentiment that ate me from the inside out. I was frantic to speak and finally be free.

But I could not. I was doomed to stay immobile, bound by chains that never rusted.

"We… had an argument," I confessed to Jasmine, who was waiting patiently through my rumination to answer her previous question. "He was asleep when I woke up, so I came to breakfast without him."

There was an odd silence between Jasmine and I as we sat there, oblivious to the people trickling in with the animosity of a peaceful stream, the only palpable disruption in the room being the air surround me. I felt tainted, disturbed, and somewhat dead. I'd been coping so well up until now, but why had Roark's appearance shaken me so? Flint was moved by the boy, but so was I—and certainly in the opposite manner.

"Volkner," Jasmine said after a slow measure of hesitation. "If you were anyone else, I would tell you to move on, you know. But knowing you, if you had to give up Flint, you couldn't break even. You'd go through withdrawal or something and die, and where would that leave you?"

"Dead?" I tried, a shoddy attempt at humor.

Playfully, Jasmine smirked and punched me on the shoulder. She did so a bit too hard, and I was briefly reminiscent of her tough left hook from childhood as I rubbed my sore arm in repetition. "What I'm trying to say is this," Jasmine continued. "You have to get your priorities straight. Flint is your lifelong companion, and I understand that you don't want to ruin that precious friendship, but you have to ask yourself what's more important in the long run. Yeah, losing Flint might be rough, but how do you expect to bottle up your feelings successfully? One day, you're going to lose it, and Flint will find out sooner or later. Ask yourself something for me: what will hurt less in the end? No Flint or Flint bearing a nonstop grudge with you for not being honest?"

I did not have enough time to ponder Jasmine's salient advice, for just as I opened my mouth to respond to her, the door to the conference room burst open suddenly, as the Gym Leaders had ceased milling about and had now taken their places at the table, with the exception of a few late stragglers—Flint and Roark being among them, I noticed with a twinge of sorrow. Even Byron, Roark's father and the leader of the Canalave City gym, was presently sitting to the left of Crasher Wake and laughing heartily at some lecherous joke that they were sharing between each other. His shovel was propped against the large window of the ten-story hotel that overlooked the city streets below, presumably scratching its surface to the aggravation of the maid staff. Curiously, everyone's eyes went to the noisy intruder, including Byron's, who seemed annoyed that his conversation had been interrupted.

To my lax relief, Flint Oba himself was standing at the threshold, his yellow shirt frumpy and one red suspender over his right shoulder, the other casually hanging out of his pocket as it usually did. Flint looked as if he'd woken up seconds ago, his expression limp and droopy with sleepiness. He'd apparently made an effort to try and brush his hair before he'd come down, because a sky blue comb was receding in the tide of his massive hairstyle. He scanned the room frenetically, searching for someone, before his brown eyes came to rest on me. When my presence was noted, I saw a characteristic fire spring up in Flint's gaze; whether it was out of anger or recognition, I wasn't sure. Still, it made my heart leap nevertheless—whenever Flint was determined, his face glowed with the intensity of his expert type. He truly had fire in his soul.

"Hey, Flint," Jasmine greeted. "I haven't seen you in forever." She pointed to the comb in Flint's afro. "Why is that there? Are you trying that ghetto 90's look?"

Reaching up, Flint pulled at the brush, snagging a few of his locks in the process. "Where's Roark?" He inquired, not even acknowledging that I was in the room. That was a blow, but I bit my tongue to prevent from saying something I'd regret.

"I don't know," Jasmine shrugged. "He hasn't been in here yet. We saved you a seat. Come on, sit down." She pointed to the seat to her other side. "Unless you'd like to sit next to Volkner?"

No, Jasmine. You are not my wingman.

Instead of taking her offer, Flint glared openly at me, snorted, and turned around before taking off away from the entrance and presumably down the hall. As if I had springs stuck to my ass—or maybe I was propelled by some deep desire not to make a fool of myself—I stood and proceeded to the door to follow him. If Flint was going to act like this, then by Arceus, I'd hunt him down and strangle him with my bare hands. I couldn't catch him earlier, so I decided that now was a better time to reconcile than ever. Flint never held ill will toward me for longer than twenty-four hours, but I still had to clear my record.  
And wherever Roark was and wherever Flint was going to find him, I was going to get there first.

"Where are you going?" Jasmine asked, moments before I was about to leave the conference room and the gaping faces of Gym Leaders and Elite Four members from all five regions, either shocked at Flint's brash appearance or his hairdo—I could never be quite sure when people seemed surprised to see him.

"To find Flint and drag him back here," I said without looking back.

"The forum's about to start," Jasmine protested. "Let him get here on his own."

"No," I replied, resolute. "I have to apologize. I'll be back soon."

As I exited, I could feel someone watching me go. Someone with dangerous, calculating eyes, sizing me up from the way that I walked and the lilt of my voice when addressing Jasmine. I wasn't sure if they studied me in a method that one would use to better understand a potential opponent—or otherwise, as a chill crept under my skin, a dull warning bell thudding hollowly in my skull. The stranger sensed something about me that interested them, perhaps between Flint and I, and perhaps not. I wasn't sure, as I didn't turn to see who was looking at me so intently. With their eyes ablaze, boring me in the back, I departed, one thought swirling about in my mind, far above even my disorganized contemplations.

_That wasn't Jasmine._


End file.
